


Scheduled Planning

by blobfushes (blobfish_miffy)



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Awkward Crush, Clothingstore AU, Crack, Crushes, F/M, First Crush, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO LEXI, Imagine your OTP, Reader-Insert, Short One Shot, amazing!, but one's you and one's john deacon, i rarely write reader inserts but it's a present yall, if that's your otp, shithead roger taylor (queen), supportive freddie mercury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23860234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blobfish_miffy/pseuds/blobfushes
Summary: [y/n] is ready to ask her crush, the young John Deacon, out on a date. If everything goes according to plan, and everything sticks to her schedule.The first thing that goes wrong is the weather.Or,A birthday present for my favourite feral cryptid, Lexi.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury & Reader, Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Reader, John Deacon/You, Roger Taylor (Queen) & Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Scheduled Planning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lexi that bastard](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lexi+that+bastard).



> Hi there. Hope you enjoy. It is... something. it's something.

Today had had the potential to be great, honestly. 

You had planned it out completely, had written a neat schedule on that thick, expensive paper from the stationary set you’d splurged on a while back. Confidence did not come naturally to you, so having some sort of guide to help you what you achieve your goals really did lessen your social anxiety. 

Everything had been planned. Everything. From your outfit to at what time you were going to close up the shop, everything had been jotted down in your picture-perfect handwriting. 

_Everything_ had been planned. 

_Everything,_ except for one minor detail: the weather. 

“By God, [y/n],” said Roger the moment you rushed inside, closing the door behind you. “You look like a drowned rat.”

“Thank you, Taylor,” you muttered in reply. Wiping your soaked hair out of your face, you glared in his direction. “I appreciate the compliment.”

The dangerous glowering did nothing. He even started to snicker, the bastard. “Are you a raccoon now? Is that how you’ve decided to go through life?” he gestured at his under eyes, obviously trying to point out how much your makeup had been ruined by the _unplanned_ rainstorm. “You’ve got a bit right there, love-”

You walked up to the counter and plopped your shoulder bag onto the wooden surface, bumping Roger aside with your hip as you went. “I just made the tiny mistake of not using waterproof mascara,” you replied, digging through your bag for some makeup wipes. Of course, you’d packed too much, months of collected receipts and paper packaging hiding anything you needed, and you turned the bag upside down to empty it of its contents. 

“And waterproof eyeliner,” Roger muttered, smoothing out a particularly creased receipt and squinting at the tiny letters. He always refused to wear his glasses. “Jesus fuck, [y/n], this one’s _two years old-”_

“Got it!” you waved the blue plastic packaging through the air with a triumphant grin, plucking two wipes out of the little opening. “Now, where is my mirror…”

“Is that the planning you told me about?” Roger had now taken hold of the notebook, gaze gliding over the neatly written words as if he could read it without leaning in closer. After a couple of seconds of proud gazing, he squinted and lifted the paper closer to his face. “Wow. _“12:15 - arrive at shop. 12:30 - kick Roger’s arse…”_ is that a threat?”

“It is if you continue to mock me like that,” you replied, still busy wiping the runny black makeup from underneath your eyes. Your skin was dry despite being wet from the rain, and the wipe together with your finger made a weird rustling sound. “Don’t do that. I’m nervous.”

Roger snickered nasally but stopped when he spotted the slight tremble of your hands. How? You hadn’t a clue. “It’s gonna be _alright,_ you know,” he said, tone of voice so gentle and un-Roger-like that it almost made you laugh. “He’d be mad to not say yes.” After a brief pause, he continued, less gentle this time. “Or, y’know, he _would be._ Considering you’re absolutely batshit ‘n all- _ouch!”_

As Roger nursed his fresh bruise with a whiny _“seeee???”_ , you resumed wiping away the last bits of mascara. “You’re a terror. I hate you.”

 _“Who?”_ Freddie popped up from behind a mountain of fashionable vests with a shit-eating grin as if he’d apparated into the shop. You would’ve had a heart attack had this not been an everyday occurrence. “Who do you hate?”

“You,” Roger replied playfully. “It’s you we hate.”

 _“Oh,_ woe is me,” Freddie gasped, and he ran towards the counter. “Do you? Do you really? And what have I done to deserve such unfair hatred?”

“Scaring the shit out us, appearing like that.” You lowered your mirror, confident that all the ridiculously smeared eye makeup had now disappeared, and batted your eyelashes at him. “You bitch.”

Freddie merely smiled brightly, snatching the notebook out of Roger’s hands. “Well, then I’m probably the most extravagant bitch one’s ever had the pleasure of meeting, am I not?” he said brightly, reading your plan of today. His smile disappeared before he’d even finished reading, though, and he put the notebook back down with a sigh. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you absolutely certain you’re going to stick to this?” he tapped on the thick paper with a slight frown. “I’m not so sure if this’ll be the best idea, love. Especially for you.”

You started packing everything back into your bag with pursed lips. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That, though you usually manage to be as cool as a cucumber when sticking to a schedule such as this, you don’t do well when one of those things changes,” Roger answered in lieu of Freddie. He rolled his eyes at your blank look and turned the notebook around, pointing at a particular line. “Here. _“12:45 - mister Dallas delivers lunch, Caesar salad without croutons.”_ The last time you made a schedule detailing what you were going to eat the order was different from your usual, and you were in a right state the entire day.”

“That was _one_ instance,” you snapped, trying to snatch the notebook from his grip. Roger held it high above his head and stood on tippy toes. “I’m sure I can deal with a little change- _give it!”_

“Okay, _“17:30 - Deaky gets off work, 17:45 - Deaky arrives at shop for tea, 17:50 - pop the question.”_ ,” Freddie pulls a face. “What if he gets off work later? You’ll fidget the entire time!”

_“I always fidget!”_

_“Worse,_ you’ll fidget _worse-”_

You dug your heel in Roger’s foot and he threw the notebook at your face with a high-pitched whine, stumbling back. With a huff and a slightly smug smile, you placed it back down onto the counter. “Everything will be _fine,”_ you hissed, and both Freddie and Roger looked at you in slight awe - maybe because the smile was slightly deranged, but oh well. “It will be _fine_ and even if there are a couple of minor hiccups in my planning, it’ll still be _fine,_ because I can _deal_ with that.”

Roger and Freddie were silent. 

That silence, though, still spoke volumes.

You shook your head and tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “I can’t believe you two don’t trust me. Shitheads, the lot of you.”

“It’s not that we don’t trust you, darling, but just that we- _well,”_ Freddie glanced at Roger, looking a bit helpless, before returning his dark gaze to you and cringing visibly. “we’re just not absolutely _certain_ you’ll keep your composure.”

“Yeah,” Roger piped up, voice shaking a little. “Yeah! And whether you… whether you can deal with bigger hiccups rather than just _minor_ ones. Because those can of course happen. L-like” he stuttered, “like the weather just now! Your makeup ruined, your hair ruined, you’re all damp and uncomfortable-”

 _“I may be damp and uncomfortable,”_ you said lowly, “but I’m resilient! I can handle such- such _hiccups!”_

Freddie licked his bottom lip and swallowed drily. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Of course!” you argued, getting really heated now. Your hands had now reached your waist, and though you felt an awful lot like your mother at the moment, the satisfaction you felt at the paling of Freddie’s face as he spotted the action was enough to cancel out any discomfort. “Of course I’m certain! I know myself, don’t I?”

“Absolutely brilliant, love, absolutely bloody brilliant,” Roger muttered, before snorting, “‘cause Deaky’s here.”

“Yes, it’s fucking brilliant- _wait what??”_

And in an act of utter and complete bravery, you hid behind Roger - even if there was not much to hide behind. The lad had an arse the size of a bloody marble. 

The door opened and the bell jingled as someone - _Deaky -_ entered the premises with a calm and cheery. “Hey!”

“Hey Deaks,” Roger and Freddie chorused like the perfect little schoolboys they weren’t, and Freddie leaned against the counter. “What are you doing here this early?”

“Had the day off and decided to come here and hang out,” you could _hear_ the smile in his voice. “I didn’t feel like studying and I was bored.”

“Did you at least manage to sleep in a little, mate?” 

“Rolled out of bed at ten,” John sounded quite proud, as if it was an amazing achievement. It kind of was. “Haven’t slept that long in _ages.”_ He paused. “...has [y/n] been around yet?”

“Yes,” said Roger, at the same time that Freddie said _“No.”_

They looked at each other. 

Freddie raised his eyebrows.

“I’m high,” Roger added, “must be seeing things.”

“... _hm.”_

There was an awkward silence. 

“Isn’t that [y/n]’s bag?” John then asked, confusion clear in his voice, “...and her notebook?” a pause. “Is that a schedule?”

“You terrible person,” Freddie said, voice panicky. He leaned forward, probably trying to swipe the notebook off the counter. “Just looking into other people’s stuff-”

“It’s lying out in the open!” another pause. _“”17:50 - pop the question, 18:00 - either go home or go out for dinner”_. What one earth is this for - _oh.”_

And… well, that was it. Panic crept into your bones, that flighty feeling of an increased heart rate and a shortage of breath. Before Roger or Freddie could even answer you, filled to the brim with anxiety and nerves, had leapt up with a shriek, attaching yourself to the ceiling and crawling forward, _fleeing-_

“Oh dear,” you heard Freddie sigh, “she’s doing it again.”

“I thought she said she was over that?”

“...and you _trust_ her?”

Ignoring the chatter of the three boys on the other side of the shop, you’d managed to reach the last wall. Carefully lowering yourself between the abundance of musty jackets you hid, feeling oddly safe. Hiding had always been your favourite thing to do whenever you felt anxious. It was the “not handling hiccups well”-type of thing that Roger had mentioned earlier. 

“[y/n]?” Deaky called out softly, and you heard him walking a bit closer. “You okay?”

 _“Of course I’m not okay,”_ you hissed from your hiding spot. **_“Binch.”_**

“Come on out, love, it’s not that big of a deal-”

Face burning with embarrassment, you shook your head. “It is! I fucked up!”

“No, you didn’t!” another pause. And then, a soft: “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

Your heart was about to beat right out of your chest. “...are you sure?”

“I swear that I’d love to go on a date with you, [y/n],” he said softly, and you peeked out from behind the jackets. His gaze was soft, mouth pulling in a large, toothy grin. “But only if you’d like to.”

You swallowed, cheeks feeling as if they’re on fire. “Well, you know,” you said softly, “I was the one who asked, so yes. Yes, I’d like that.”

Roger wolf-whistled loudly from behind the counter. Something crunchy was being chewed - you wouldn’t be surprised if the bastards quickly grabbed some popcorn. 

John, to his credit, completely ignored the idiots on the other side of the shop and nervously bit down on his lip, scratching his neck. “Okay,” he replied. “Okay, cool. I- I’ll pick you up later, then? After you’re done with your shift?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, and you started to smile. _“You will.”_

John’s eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline, Roger and Freddie choked on their popcorn, and you realised what you’d said a couple of seconds after it’d come out of your mouth. 

Oh well. 

“So,” you muttered, reaching out awkwardly to pat his chest. Your arm wasn’t long enough, and the action instead became equally as awkward petting with your fingertips. “Six o’clock, then? You’ll pick me up.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” John confirmed, though his voice was a bit shaky. “Yeah, I will.”

He helped you climb down from the wall and led you back. Freddie and Roger were smiling, and John coughed awkwardly into the crook of his elbow before leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. Because you were very short. Did I mention that yet? 

“I’ll see you at six then, love,” he muttered into your ear, before backing up and pulling a silly face at the snickering Roger and Freddie. He turned around, walked out of the door, and disappeared from sight.

“Well,” Roger muttered when you were back behind the counter again. “You did it. You let your true colours show, and he still wanted to go on a date with you.”

“Even though I’m batshit?”

“Yeah.”

A brief silence fell between the three of you. Freddie audibly sucked air in through his teeth and checked his nails. “Or he’s just a monsterfucker.”

“For the last time, it’s _cryptid-”_


End file.
